Series 3
by jayer
Summary: It's been months since the death of Sherlock Holmes but the story isn't finished.
1. Prologue: The Suit Speaks

She knocked on the door, waiting for a reply before entering.

"Ah, yes. Do come in." The Suit waved her into the room. "Tea?"

"Thank you, sir."

He poured a tea and paused.

"Just plain, sir." She replied, reaching for the cup.

He poured himself a cup, splash of milk but no sugar, then took his place behind the desk.

"I have a problem." The Suit pushed a folder across the table. "You have seen these?"

She opened the folder and perused the contents. "Yes, sir. I'm familiar. This has been quite an embarrassment to the Queen but it is a very profitable topic, Sir. I'm not certain there is anything we can do about it. I'm not aware of any law they have broken."

The Suit raised his hand. "You seem to have taken the wrong point. The Queen's embarrassment is not my concern. Even the truth would have been embarrassing."

"Even the truth, Sir? Are you saying these aren't true."

"Not entirely. And the false bits are slandering an innocent man. I want you to put a stop to it."

"How?"

"That is for you to decide." The Suit leaned forward. "Use your unique skills, my dear."

"Am I correct, Sir, in saying this is not an official situation?"

"No it is not. And it could be quite hazardous to your career so it is your choice to undertake it."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then things continue as they are. But if you do agree, I'll ensure you have whatever support you need. You have my word."

"May I have a few days to consider?"

"Of course."

"Then you will have my answer by week's end, Sir."

She nodded, picked up the folder and left.

As she left the building, her mobile rang.

"Stefan. What a pleasant surprise."

"I'm in town for the day, thought you could buy me a drink."

"Sorry Stef but I'm up to my eyebrows with work." She raised her hand to hail a cab. "Perhaps next time."

"Sure, love. Kiss Kiss."

She gave the driver the address and opened the file for a closer look. She realized only a few pages in that she would say yes. That wasn't the real question. It was how to sort out the facts and how to reveal them, how to get people to listen.

"The game," she muttered to herself, "is afoot."


	2. Episode 1: The Proposal

"Oh dear, we're going to be late." Mrs Hudson frowned as the cab came to a standstill.

"Sorry Ma'am." The driver spoke over his shoulder. "Seems there was an accident up ahead. I'll turn off if I can find a spot, get you there as quick as I can."

"Thank you." John nodded to the driver. "There's nothing to be nervous about."

"I'm not nervous."

"Really? You just called me after four months and asked me to make inquiries. And to ride with you to have tea. But you aren't nervous."

"Cheeky."

"I won't apologize for it." John smiled. He reached over and put his hand over the older woman's.

He liked Mrs. Hudson, very much. He had felt bad about moving out and leaving her alone after what happened. But he found it too hard to stay. Too many memories laying about. He'd help Mrs Hudson move all the things into the non-rentable basement flat until Mycroft came for it but it didn't help. Talking a job in the hospital's A&E at least kept him busy and tired enough he had little time to think.

Still when Mrs Hudson received a letter with an odd invitation for tea, how could he not lend a hand. Even if it dredged up things he wished he could forget.

"There we are folks." The driver pulled the cab over.

"Thank you. I'll just be a moment." John helped Mrs Hudson out of the cab. "Do you want me to walk in with you?"

"No, I'm just being silly." Mrs Hudson smiled. "It's just tea."

John kissed her on the cheek. "I'm working the overnight. Why don't I come by tomorrow and you can tell me all about it."

"That's sounds lovely."

John turned to climb back in the cab. He saw Mrs Hudson pause at the door. With a sigh, John paid the driver. He'd walk her in then take the tube home.

"What kind of gentleman would I be?" He held out his arm. "Shall we?"

They entered the posh looking hotel.

"Welcome to the St James." A liveried gentleman greeted them.

"We're meeting for someone for tea."

"That would be me." A woman's voice came from behind them. John found himself looking her over. She was slender, in shape. Her clothes were stylish but not extremely posh. Her makeup discrete, her hair in one of those it only looks sloppy updos he recalled from the various magazines the nurses kept around to read during breaks. Her age was hard to tell but he guessed late 20s, perhaps 30 at the most.

"I'm so sorry I'm late." Mrs Hudson stammered.

"These things happen. And you aren't exceptionally late." The woman smiled. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you Mrs Hudson. My name is Mary, Mary Russell." She turned to John. "You must be Dr Watson. I had a feeling you'd tag along."

"I'm not staying."

"Of course you are, John. May I call you John?" Mary gestured to them to follow the host to a small table in the corner were three places were already set.

"Yes, I suppose." John held out a seat for Mrs Hudson, then Mary. "And I don't want to impose."

"It is no imposition. In fact I must insist." Mary nodded to the empty chair. "Ah, our service. Mrs Hudson, would you be so kind and play Mother?"

They sat in silence, eating and drinking for several minutes. John found himself watching the Mary, looking for any subtle clues as to why she would have contacted a random woman and bring her to tea at such a place. She seemed clearly wealthy or at least upper middle, given the venue. Confident. Educated. But other than that, he was at a loss.

"I imagine you're curious, John." Mary smiled at him. "Rather than trying to deduce who I am, why not just ask me." She leaned back to let a waiter remove her plate and cup. "And do keep eating if you like."

"Alright. Who are you and why did you contact Mrs Hudson?" John asked bluntly. "And why did you insist that I stay?"

"I insisted you stay because I was expecting you."

"You were?" Mrs Hudson injected.

"Of course, Mrs Hudson." Mary laughed. "A total stranger contacts you and invites to you to tea to discuss 'something important'. You'd be a fool not to turn to someone for advice. And as he'd have no way to know what this was about, bringing him along to listen and consult would be the logical action."

"Why didn't you just ask me in the first place?"

"Because I wanted to confirm my suspicions that Mrs Hudson, while perhaps not educated, is at least one to undertake things with caution and consideration. I don't want my matter to involve anyone that enters into it too rashly. Might ruin things in the end."

"And what exactly is this matter?"

"It is two matters in fact."

"First?"

"The matter of 221 Baker Street. I wish to buy it."

"It isn't for sale, Miss Russell."

"I must insist you call me Mary. And I am well aware the property is not currently for sale." Mary smiled gently. "I must apologize Mrs Hudson for revealing this in front of John but I am also aware that your late husband took out several loans against said property for various gambling debts. Loans which, lacking the rent John and the late Mr Holmes were paying, you can't pay off. Not on the meagre pension you receive.

"These are the sort of men who would not hesitate to toss an old woman out in the streets without a penny or possession. And perhaps with numerous injuries. I'm certain the thought of having an arm, or leg, or both smashed to pieces is not appealing.

"So I propose to buy the property and allow you to pay off those debts before there are any unfortunate doings."

"And be left homeless by you." John said, his anger beginning to boil.

"Calm down, John. I know what you're thinking. And you're wrong. I am not exaggerating Mrs Hudson's position in order to scam her out of house and home. I have the means to pay her more than enough to cover said debts and have enough, along with her pension, to live quite comfortably should she decide to take up a home in the country. Or if she wishes to stay in London she may choose to become part of the second matter."

Mary paused for a moment. She watched the both of them carefully. She noted Mrs Hudson was careful not to look at John, likely embarrassed her little secret was out. John appeared rather embarrassed himself. Mary's research had shown that the doctor was spending as much time as possible working, choosing to sleep on sofas and lie lows or at the hospital. Was his embarrassment actually more guilt that he had abandoned his old landlady quite thoroughly and thus she hadn't turned to him for help.

"That is if you care to discuss, the Second Matter." Mary said finally. "We could simply stop here, end it. You could go on your way and be done with me. Find your own solution to your predicament. I am aware the late Mr Holmes has a brother of some means. Perhaps he could assist you."

Mrs Hudson glanced at John before turning towards Mary. "Perhaps he could and perhaps he will. But I am curious about this other matter. So, John may leave if he wishes, but I'm staying."

Mary smiled to herself. There was the backbone she'd heard about. This was not a woman who was easily scared after all. Or at least had enough gumption in her to pretend like she wasn't easily scared.

"John?" Mary glanced at the exit.

"In for a pound."

"Very well. The Second Matter is that of Sherlock Holmes."

"Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, John."

"And what concern do you have with that?"

"A great deal if you must know. I assume you attempted to find me out before this little meeting. Call in a favor or two, search the internet, that sort of thing. Likely found a lot of Mary Russells even in England.

"Did you happen to come across mention of a Mary Russell at university say 8 or 9 years ago?"

"Yes, a film student of all things."

"I wasn't when I first started. I had design to go into law enforcement. Or perhaps history. Movies were more a hobby, something to earn a few credits having a bit of fun. Only I found myself more drawn to those classes than any other. And so my tastes and designs changed. I was never much for fiction so I turned myself into a kind of documentary filmmaker. My humor has always be a touch macabre so turned to my other interests and focused on criminal history.

"At the end of my studies I had produced, as required, a full length film some 100 minutes long. On Jack the Ripper. The known facts, the theories, how modern behaviorists would investigate the whole thing. It took me almost a year, but I came from a family with enough money the delay wasn't an issue. I was required to screen my film publicly so I rented a small theatre. Most of the audience were Ripper fanatics, fellow students. But I recall one man sitting alone in the back. Tall, thin, very cheekboned, wild dark hair. He sat very quiet during the screening and my question and answer. Just listening, watching. But as things broke apart he came up to me. He wasn't thoroughly enamored of my work, as it was mostly a regurgitation of various conspiracy theories. But he did comment that he was fascinated by my inclusion of modern investigation methods. He was very fascinated by them.

"Looking back, I often wonder if that was the seed of Sherlock's detective, seeing my ratty little film. I gave him my address but he never corresponded. I found myself taking up a number of jobs doing historical film work. Most of the subjects were rather grotesque, murders, torture methods, concentration camps. I even worked for a time in the States, researching and producing a television serial on various American serial killers, bank robbers and the like. Eventually the whole thing got to be a bit much so I gave myself a break, did some traveling. While I was having my little walkabout, I keep an eye on things back home. I found mention of Sherlock Holmes. I did more digging, got in touch with a few contacts. I was fascinated by what I had found, followed his website, John's blog, the papers. I had already had it in my mind to contact himself, try to develop something. But before I could approach him, he died and my plans were, as they say, tabled. Until I saw the press, particularly the tabloids. Something in my gut told me that they were painting the story all wrong."

"And you want to paint it right?"

"Yes, John. I do. Or at least less wrong. I've already contacted his brother and Mycroft has given me permission to pursue my research. He's even allowed me access to any of Sherlock's things, which he tells me are still at your old flat. I could arrange to have them moved out but if I was working there it would be easier. There are a number of people who would love the chance to grab a piece of Sherlock Holmes and loading things into a moving van would be too good an opportunity to pass up.

"Mind you, Mycroft was very insistent that I was to make no mention of either of you or the disgraced former DI Lestrade without each of your permission."

"Which is why the tea?"

"in part. The other part is simply that I'm a horrible housekeeper. I often work for hours on end and forget to go to sleep or to eat. It certainly doesn't help matters that I forget to go to the market. And it wouldn't do for me to forget to pay the bills.

"So if Mrs Hudson would like to stay in her old home I am prepared to offer her a job. And you, John, would be welcome to your old room should you like it back. Rent free as I have no need for it. Just keep tidy and generally out of my way and pitch in a bit for food from time to time."

"That's all."

"That's all. Let me be clear that these offers and my request to include each of you in my endeavor are separate. You can have your rooms and refuse to participate if you wish."

"That's very generous, Mary."

Mary smiled. "It's getting a bit late and I suspect you have a night shift to work. And a desire to see Mrs Hudson safely home before you go. So feel free to call Mycroft and confirm my claims of our conversation."

"Oh I will."

Mary pulled out a card and handed it to Mrs Hudson. "When you've decided, call me. And do take your time."


	3. Episode 2: New Arrangements

Episode 2: New Arrangements

John shock his head as the cab turned the corner. They were back. The tabloid vultures looking for a photo, a headline. Any bit of flesh to chew on.

"I could drop you a street over." The driver said, noticing the crowd.

"That's my door." John sighed. "But thank you."

The cab pulled to the curb and the crowd turned their attention from the hired gentlemen moving boxes into the flat to their newcomer.

"I could help you with those bags."

John handed the gentlemen his fare. "I'm good. They aren't that heavy."

John reached to open the door only to have it pushed shut. "What?"

Then he noticed a familiar figure blocking the door.

"QUIET!" Mary yelled, a surprisingly loud roar from someone who appeared to be rather delicate.

The crowd and their catcalls for attention stopped immediately. Mary walked across the sidewalk to stand on the steps of the cafe next door to the flat. The crowds attention and gaze followed and prompted by a subtle nod, John slipped out of the cab and around the moving van.

"I am here to inform all of you that I am now the legal owner of this building and I have filed and been granted an order of restraint, " Mary held a piece of paper in the area. "Barring any employee, full time or free lance, of your papers, websites and services from coming within 500 meters in any direction from this building or within 200 meters of myself and various parties listed. Violation of this order is grounds for arrest. Copies of this order have been sent to each of you and your employers.

At this time you are all to shut up and get out." Mary's tone remained sweetly polite. "If anyone says one word or doesn't pack up immediately, these officers will be forced to drag you away and your cameras and other equipment will be impounded. Thank you."

Mary waved to John to follow her inside.

"How on earth?"

Mary smiled as John followed her upstairs to the sitting room. "I have friends, they have friends. I called in a favor or two. Couldn't have those vile things hanging about and I wasn't about to have them harassing my friends."

"Friends?"

"We are friends are we not? Or at least friendly. Or did you take up my offer merely to keep me at my word?"

"I —"

"It's quite alright. I don't know that I would trust me either. Particularly when someone is looking to dissect my soulmate."

"Sherlock and I weren't"

"I never said you were. I suppose some people use that particular term only in relation to some kind of romantic or sexual affair, but I don't. To me, a soulmate is that person who is such a perfect fit in your life that they understand the parts of you that you can't explain. Someone who is profoundly devoted to you not despite your quirks and foibles but because of them.

"And you might say that Sherlock Holmes was not your soulmate but I dare say you were his."

"Interesting point of view."

"I suppose it is." Mary grinned. "So shall I put on the kettle for some tea while we talk arrangements."

"Where's Mrs Hudson?"

"I sent her out, to be pampered. Thought it best she wasn't around while the gents were bringing in my things. In case the reporters appeared."

"Miss." A burly man appeared in the doorway. "That's the last of it."

"Thank you Mr Sutton." Mary handed him an envelope.

"I'll see to it the door locks behind me."

Mary turned back to John. "I'll be in the room upstairs, it's rather small but as I said, I often don't sleep."

"You didn't have to, you could have taken Sherlock's old room."

"I know. I own the house after all. But I didn't want that room. I want to keep it the way it was. Which is something I was hoping you would help me with. This room also. I need to see what they looked like when the two of you were here. What Sherlock was surrounded by."

"Why?"

"To help me understand him. I know it won't be easy but will you consider it?"

John shrugged. Walking into the empty room, all of Sherlock's books and lab tools missing, he'd been able to keep calm. The thought of putting those things back in their rightful place made his chest tighten. He knew it was a panic attack brewing and it was a silly thing but there it was. it was only his firm desire to keep an eye on Miss Mary Russell and her bizarre endeavor that kept him from running.

"I'll take that to be a yes, you will consider it."

"Can we not talk about this right now?" John clenched his fists trying to distract himself. "I just came off a very long shift and I haven't even unpacked my things."

"Of course, forgive me."

John brushed past her.

"Oh and John, when I said outside that I own the building I meant the entire block. Wouldn't do to have some reporter trying to listen through the walls. So I"m now landlord to the cafe downstairs. If you get hungry later they know to put it on my tab."

John nodded before closing the door. He lay down on the bed, letting the tears slip out until eventually he cried himself to sleep.


End file.
